


In the Afterglow

by TheSecondCircle



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Temporary Character Death, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg, Possessive Behavior, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-18 12:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15485664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondCircle/pseuds/TheSecondCircle
Summary: Taking place after "There You Go Again" by MissNaya. Jason's been acting odd after the incident between him and Bruce, but refuses to hang up his cape. A night out patrolling turns sour and things are brought back to where it all went wrong.





	In the Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [There You Go Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739805) by [MissNaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya). 



Something's not right. Bruce could tell the moment Jason's heat was over, the shift in his demeanor. He's fidgety. Trying to keep his distance from Bruce, but wanting his presence all the same. Stuttering his words when asked simple questions, as though under the expectation that answering incorrectly will result in punishment. Bruce wants to reassure him that everything's alright, but he knows a lie for what it is and can't bring himself to say it.

Not all the changes are so obvious. Jason has always been one to take well to validation, only now he practically yearns for Bruce's approval. Face flushing deep red at the lightest of compliments. It's... cute. Enough so that Bruce almost swipes the changes under the covers; if it weren't for the knowledge as to why the boy's been acting so differently. He only has himself to blame. Neither of them talk about what happened.

Since he arrived, Alfred has certainly picked up on the shifting dynamics. Staring at Bruce warily from the corner of his eye, his usually sharp tongue held back in favor of cold silence. Bruce wouldn't be surprised if the man already knew what had happened; if Bruce's own vague answers on how the week went, and the purpling bruises on Jason's neck were anything to go by. He's glad to have Alfred back. Given his own lack of self-control in the days before Alfred's return, it would seem _someone_ needs to keep Bruce in his place.

 

The boy is putting on weight. It's only a slight difference from where he was charting before. Bruce suspects it's simply a growing phase; packing on the pounds before making gains in height. Or at least that's what he tells himself. Alfred isn't so easily persuaded; Jason misses his next two heats.

It's been over four months now since Bruce last saw Dick. He's too afraid to talk to him, to see the judgement in Dick's eyes when the inevitable is brought to light. As it is, he hasn't even told Dick that Jason has presented... and as an omega, no less. The thought of having the young man around the manor again, at a time when Jason's state has only grown more difficult to hide, it's too much to bear. The boy is even smelling of him now.

The days go by and Jason's appetite only continues to expand. Despite his grievances, Alfred has been adamant in satisfying the boy's odd cravings no matter how outlandish. Still, only Jason's stomach has grown, curving out in a slight bulge from his petite frame. Bruce knows it isn't right, that it shouldn't be happening to someone so young... but his mind tells him otherwise, fauning over the young omega and the glow of his skin. The lingering grip of a hand on his shoulder, sparring matches fading into wrestling games as sweaty bodies slide against eachother with ease, and the skin on skin contact while rubbing out knots from overworked muscles at the end of a hard day. Bruce tells himself it's just an outreach of fatherly love. Oh how he wishes it were so.

Weeks go by and Jason misses another heat. It's getting harder to cover up the swell of Jason's abdomen under the Robin uniform. Though his clothes grow tighter by the day, the boy still insists that he's fit enough for patrol. Bruce isn't so certain. For every additional night that Robin joins his vigilanting, the villains seem to pick up more and more on the changes going on in Jason's body. Their concerns begin to shift from their scheming and crimes to increasingly focus on sniffing the boy out, tracking him down. It's on a night like this that Bruce yet again feels his control slipping through the cracks.

They're in the midst of a fight, having tracked down the site of a weapons drop-off to intervene, when Robin runs solo to chase down the buyers making a run for it. Jason was always so headstrong, so brave. That, at least, remains unchanged. Right now though, Bruce wishes it hadn't.

It's Riddler's men running away, taking off to a nearby building they had likely parked at - figures. As bad as the Riddler can be, he's never been the most intimidating of the rogues, and it shows in how easily his men give up on a fight. Unafraid of their bosses temper, knowing they'll likely get away with the disobedience free of retribution. The same cannot be said of those under Black Mask. It's them he must deal with tooth and nail. The batman is not the worst of their fears tonight. Bruce understands.

A part of Bruce knows he likely could've dispatched them quicker, if it wasn't for the constant sense of worry occupying the back of his mind. He's been keeping his eyes on the periphery, watching, waiting, for the Riddler's men to take off, to pop out of the building. Something. Anything. He punches out the last of the selling team, Black Mask can deal with them on his own for all Bruce cares, he's wasted enough time out here as it is.

It's been over a half hour since Robin ran off. His mind reels with the possibilities.

The building is nothing to look at from the outside. An abandoned warehouse once full of shipping containers before the company undoubtedly tanked, old and used up it lies in wait. Bruce is more determined to get what he wants.

He spots the gaudy green of Riddler's men, or at least the ones who haven't left, huddled in a room at the other side of the facility. There's only a few of them still here by the looks of it, out of the original five they first ran into. He curses himself for not catching the others leaving; Robin is nowhere to be seen.

Despite the distance, Bruce hears them speaking as he makes his way along the edge of the storage room, the cowl heightening the volume of what's around him. What he hears certainly doesn't help calm his already strung out frustration.

"Looks like somebody got the bitch pregnant." "I didn't think Robin was a whore..." "Ah, come on. He ain't a whore. If I had to venture a guess I'd bet he's shacking up with the big ole batman." "And he calls us the criminals." "Can't tell me you wouldn't take a shot at a little jail-bait like that?" "Doesn't mean it'd be right." "Fuck that. Birdy's obviously already got some before, what's a little more dicking around gonna do?" "Quiet." "What? Don't agree with me?" "Just, shut up. I think I hear something." "Shit." "You don't think it's the bat do you?" "Who the fuck else would it be?!" "God I hope he didn't hear us."

Bruce can feel his hackles rising, a low growl verberating in his throat on instinct; the primal urge to attack swelling within him. He can smell the stink of alphas emanating from the room. Jason's in there. With their ilk. God knows what they've done to him.

They'd better start praying.

It's not long before the three men make their way out of the room of their own accord, guns readied in their hands. Pistols. At the very least, Bruce is glad they don't have the automatic rifles they had been bartering for earlier. If he had to venture a guess, it's likely Riddler's men are just trying to sneak out of the warehouse without an altercation - despite the weapons - now that they know they've been found. It's unfortunate for them that Batman doesn't feel the same.

They go down fast, one after the other, guns wrenched from their hands exploding aimlessly towards the ceiling. An elbow to the throat here, a knee to the back there, taking a few bloodied teeth with him along the way. They don't seem too keen on taunting the batman now.

Bruce knows he's being rougher than usual, than necessary, to incapacitate the men. Then again, who would fault him for cracking a few collarbones, a windpipe, a knee. They're criminals, after all. Never has a warm spray of blood on his face felt so good.

He finds Jason tied up in ropes in the backroom, writhing on the ground trying to worm his way free. His thighs still muscular, shining with sweat, are reddening from the back and forth rub of the fraying rope around them. The vest of Jason's uniform has rucked up with the movements, exposing the boy's midriff, a glimpse of skin stretched taut over what's growing beneath. Bruce feels more than hears the rumbling purr low in his throat. Amidst the sounds of his own little grunts of irritation and struggling, Jason is oblivious to Bruce's approach.

Door securely locked behind him in the small room, Bruce takes off his cowl to help cool his head. He can still feel the blood pumping through his veins, pulsing in his ears, a lingering consequence of the fight. The police should be here shortly.

It's been months since Bruce has been completely alone with Jason. He's been avoiding it as much as possible. On the streets, out patrolling, there's always still someone else there. Civilians walking the sidewalks, the criminal underbelly mongering around their self-proclaimed territory like drones. Bruce hadn't realized how much he'd been holding back on himself when others were around. It's quick to catch up with him now.

A small patch of skin usually hidden away from view now revealed to his eyes, a thing only truly imagined in his dreams. Jason gravid with his child, the life inside him. What Bruce wouldn't do to hold him about the waist and feel it for himself. To thrust up inside of him one more time and spill his seed in that warm embrace. His mind is already hazing over with lustful thoughts in the post-fight afterglow. How he wishes Alfred were here.

"Jason."

The boy freezes, still but for the rise and fall of his chest and subtle craning of his neck to look up at the man before him.

"Bruce?" It's spoken softly, uncertain. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't've run off like that. I-I thought I could take them on my own I-"

"Shh. It's alright, Jason. Everything's going to be fine, I've got you."

Bruce kneels down where Jason lies, sitting his cowl aside to pull a batarang from his belt and cut through the ropes. At this proximity, Bruce can feel himself near salivating at the smell of Jason's body, like burnt sugar on his tongue. The last remnants of cloying fear, the blooming scent of relief... the near constant undertones of submission and fertility, so potently Jason in it's subtlety. Tainted by the smell of other alpha's on his skin. He growls without meaning to. No longer deaf to the room around him, Jason shivers at the sound.

Rope now gone, pulled out of the way and thrown to the side, Bruce bends down further, brushing up the edge of Jason's tunic to admire the outward swell of his stomac- to look for any injuries he might have sustained... He draws his thumb against the bulging skin before leaning forward, peppering a chaste kiss just over the crest of it.

"B-Bruce?"

Jason looks embarrassed, there's no need for that. It's a beautiful thing what his body can do, growing a life of it's own for him and Bruce to raise - no matter the filth the men from before had to say. Why does he look so ashamed?

"You're so beautiful, Jason; my sweet little boy." He brushes the strands of hair stuck to Jason's forehead out of the way, peeling the green mask from off his face - placing it to the side. "So beautiful, you know that don't you?"

Jason's eyes still look so wrong, downcast between the gentle hands framing his face as he rises on unsteady knees. Bruce moves his fingers in slow circles in the crown of Jason's hair. Trying to comfort whatever it is that torments him. A tear slides down the boy's cheek.

"I want to go _home_." It's quiet, but so loud in the emptiness of the room as it passes his lips.

"I know," Bruce replies, "We will. In a moment."

It seems to do the trick, Jason's head gently lulls to the left against Bruce's palm. He hears the soft sigh, the slouch in the boy's shoulders, as the air leaves his body. Content in Bruce's words, his promise of safety, Bruce pulls Jason's slumping frame into his arms to settle in his lap.

The exertion and stress from the brawl seems to have finally caught up with the boy, now leaving him tired and weary. Jason tucks his head against Bruce's chest as the older man looks over his body for any injuries he may have sustained when off on his own. A few bruises are beginning to blossom, purpling on the sides of his arms, the top of a thigh and opposite shin. No puncture wounds, at the very least. The most obvious damage has been done by Jason himself.

Shining red lines ring around Jason's arms and his legs. Thin layers of skin peeling at the edges of where he's rubbed himself raw, caught on the broken twine flaying out from the braiding once wrapped around his limbs. It looks tender to the touch. Bruce wishes he had found him sooner.

Pulling off his gloves and Jason's, Bruce checks the boys hands. His knuckles are reddened, an unavoidable consequence of a fist fight. On the underside, Jason's palms are soft, dewy from being trapped in his gloves so long. His fingers curl in at the touch of Bruce's bare fingers on the meat of his hand, probing for broken bones. Bruce can't help but notice how small they are in comparison to his own. Everything looks good so far.

He moves on to the boy's legs. Starting from Jason's ankle and working his way up, Bruce massages at the bone and muscle to feel for anything broken or out of place. Beneath the press of his calloused fingers Jason's skin feels so smooth, unmarred by years of violence, so unlike his own; the buffed glint of rope worn skin the only thing to mottle the plane, like stripes of warpaint put on before battle. When everything checks out with one leg, Bruce makes his way over the other. He pauses when he once again reaches the juncture where hip and thigh meet.

Dipping his thumb under the band of Jason's shorts, Bruce pulls the elastic away to take a peek at the rise of his hip. He's bruising there too, likely landed on this hip during a fall given the darkening shade and swollen lump on the edge of it. Bruce growls darkly. The thought of Jason falling, being pushed to the ground in the state that he's in; it's enough to make Bruce's head swim with rage. As though the bruises and abrasions weren't enough. ...he knows he's overreacting, dimly aware of it on the outskirts of his mind. But knowledge by itself does not stop it from happening.

"You fell." It's said matter of fact, no room for debate. When had that ever stopped Jason.

"I just tripped was all. I-it's not a big deal." Jason pressed his head firmer against Bruce's chest, hiding his face from view and crossing his arms in finality, "I'm Robin. Robin gets hit sometimes, big whoop."

Bruce is about to respond, but hesitates, instead pressing his lips into a fine line. He doesn't want to hurt Jason's feelings... he doesn't want Jason physically hurt even more. Bruce keeps his voice soft, low in pitch; trying to keep the conversation pragmatic. "Perhaps you shouldn't be."

"What? Gettin' hit?" Jason scoffs, "Sorry boss, but it comes with the job. It's not like I'm tryin'ah get my ass kicked."

Bruce cringes at the crude language. "Than I suppose the job should change. If the work environment won't."

This, more than anything, seems to get the most rise out of Jason. He pushes himself away from Bruce's arms, hands splayed across the man's broad chest for leverage. Bruce meets his gaze with steady eyes.

"Nu-uh, no way old man. You can't just-just fire me?!" His cheeks are flushing, "You can't just do that shit!"

Bruce narrows his eyes, "Watch your language, Jason."

"Fuck 'language', I have a right to be mad!"

"And I have the right to bench you at a moment's notice."

Jason is near fuming now, starts shoving at Bruce to get up and away from him, pulling his legs back under him to stand. " _Fuck you._ "

Bruce doesn't mean to pull him back so hard. The boy yelps with the fall back against him, hitting at Bruce's hands, trying to squeeze himself free from the cage of arms surrounding him. He had a better chance with the ropes. "Let me go!"

Bruce can feel the growl growing in his voice, the bark waiting behind it. He gives the boy a slight jostle to ensure he has his full attention, "You don't get to speak to me that way, you understand, Jason? As alpha-"

"You what? Get first dibs on the next piece of fresh meat that walks into the batcave?" Jason wiggles himself around to be facing Bruce, a sharp heel finding it's way to Bruce's groin in the process. He buckles with a grunt. Time enough for Jason to fully break free.

Standing on his own, Jason scowls down at him angry and indignant. "You don't get to make all the decisions for me! Alpha or not!" He bares his teeth with a curl of his lip, shoulders drawing up in aggravation, "I've done fine on my own before, and I'll do fine on my own again if I have to!"

Bruce is seeing red. He rises to his feet. Over the rush of blood in his ears he's drowned out the sound of Jason's yelling but for a faint hum in the background. He's never felt so enraged in his life. The idea that Jason would leave him... it's Bruce's child that he's carrying; the boy has no right to do something so rash. Bruce has already lost so much of his family as it is. He's not about to let himself lose another. To lose them both.

It's clear that Jason has picked up on the changing mood as well, the shifting scent of aggression falling in bitter waves from around Bruce's person. A glimpse of fear passes over Jason's face for but a split second, quickly swept away by the boy's ever present drive to betray the social norms of what he's meant to be. How he's meant to act.

"I'll see you at the manor."

Bruce barks back at him with barely veiled anger. "We're not finished here, Jason!"

The boy simply sneers. "Well, I am. Stay here and mope over your hurt alpha pride if you like, fuck if I care."

He turns on his heel, heading towards the door. Bruce catches him before he has the chance to get away, yanking Jason back by his forearm. Jason pulls right back, digging his fingers into Bruce's hand to get him to release his grip.

"Let go of me!"

Bruce ignores it. "Day after day I've allowed you to backtalk me without repercussion, but I'm done. You hear me Jason? I'm _sick_ of playing these games with you, I'm not going to just let you walk away again like everything's alright. It's past time I taught you a lesson for your utter lack of respect for anyone other than yourself."

It's an instantaneous response, Jason pulling his free arm back to slam a fist into Bruce's face. From the looks of it, even Jason is surprised by his own outlash. Whatever the purpose was, it won't serve him well; Bruce tightens his grip on the boy's wrist. He wipes the back of a hand along his mouth, pulling back with a smear of blood on his knuckles.

Jason raises a hand placatingly, still trying to tug his arm free, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" but he's stopped short; one moment getting a fist to the side of the head, the next being slammed face first into the nearest wall. Bruce wrenches the boy's arms up against his own back, crossed between one hand, his other hand finding it's way down the back of Jason's shorts. He's put up with Jason's shit for far too long. The boy refuses to submit, always trying to rebel; it's time someone finally put him his place.

"Perhaps a more direct approach is necessary to get through to that thick head of yours, hm? It seemed to work so well last time."

It's not hard to find the boy's hole. With all the hostility and Bruce's own pheromones building in the room, Jason's already dripping wet, probably has been for a while now despite his posturing. He didn't stand a chance with all the alphas he's been surrounded by tonight lusting after him. Bruce rubs a finger along the slick rim of it.

"Get off of me you _freak!_ "

Bruce just purrs, the sound rumbling from deep in his throat, guttural and rabid like the beast he is. "You need to learn your place, Jason. If you're going to be a part of this family, you need to know who's in charge." He brings the finger from Jason's shorts up to his mouth. The smell is intoxicating. "Even your body knows what's best for you."

"Bruce, Stop! Please!" Jason's voice cracks, catching on the ends of his words, "I-I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't've talked back, that was stupid. Just let me go!"

Bruce has heard enough talking. Baring his teeth and latching onto the juncture of Jason's neck and shoulder, he growls, tightening his bite til the flesh refuses to give. Teeth digging in over the pigment dead bite scars from their last time together. Their first time together.

"Fuck!" Jason's keening now, high-pitched and whiny. Whether intentional or not, it's clearly a kickback of Jason's discomfort and fear, trying to hit at Bruce's sympathetic side of being the pack alpha. Unfortunately for Jason, the move wildly backfires. Bruce knows Jason's in no real danger, he's at his safest when he's with Bruce, after all. There's no one else here to be threatening him. If anything, the noise only serves to push Bruce further, to show the omega who's in charge. Jason shouldn't be acting out against a punishment. It's only for his own good; Bruce can't protect him if he won't listen.

Slipping his hand down the boy's shorts again, he prods over the pucker of Jason's hole, one digit already seeming so large to fit inside. It's a miracle Bruce penetrated him at all the first time. Though, Bruce supposes, all it really takes is determination. He pushes a finger in.

Jason starts gasping for air the moment the first digit penetrates him - hiccuping almost, any time Bruce moves it around to feel his way along the velvety slide of his walls. Bruce adds another unceremoniously, wedging it alongside the other to fit it in. With Jason clenching down so hard it takes effort to move them apart, Jason's breath catches in his throat, moaning anytime he tries. Whether it's from pain or pleasure, Bruce delights in the sound, lapping at the reddening marks on Jason's neck to sooth him. He pulls his fingers back out to spit in his hand whenever the friction gets to be too much, working his way back inside to keep prepping Jason for what's to come.

Bruce is growing impatient with every passing second. The noises Jason's making, the smell from the scent glands on his neck, from his slick, are driving Bruce to rut against the boy's lower back in frustration within the confines of his suit. Just under the sound of his own heavy breathing, Bruce can hear Jason sniveling, an aggravating nasally sound - a complaint without words. It irritates him more than it should. He's caught off guard when a fresh gush of slick slides down his fingers to pool in the boy's shorts at the tail end of a whimper. A good enough sign as any that Jason is ready for him.

"Look how good you are for me; I knew you'd give in eventually. All it took was little prodding, hm?"

Bruce kisses Jason's temple, the shell of his ear, the side of his jaw, "See, Jason, it doesn't have to hurt to behave." He draws his fingers out to wrap around one of Jason's wrists from the hold against his back, guiding the boy's hand down to his groin to press against the swelling bulge of his erection - evident even through the armor of the suit. Whispering in his ear as he does.

"Can't you see how happy it makes me, when you do what's right... and submit." He ruts against Jason's palm.

It's only after the fact that Bruce curses himself for loosening his grip, lax enough and slippery with Jason's slick for Jason to yank his wrist free from the hold. The pointed end of an elbow jabbing into his stomach between armored plates. Bruce doubles over in pain, swearing as he does from the unexpected turn, but he's quick to retaliate. Grabbing hold of the tail end of Jason's cape as he darts, Bruce wrenches him back. Feet kick out wildly as he lifts Jason off the ground, Bruce's arms wrapped around the boy's own to hold him still. Jason's panicking. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

"Fucking _pervert!_ " Thrashing around in the hold to get free, Jason rubs against Bruce's erection in the struggle. The man moans at the friction on his sorely ignored member. It's short-lasted though as Jason bangs his head backwards the moment the noise exits his mouth, smashing in Bruce's nose. Bruce grunts and staggers back from the hit, can feel the blood dripping on his lips in an instant, but doesn't release his grip. He's learned his lesson once already. Instead he drops to his knees, Jason still in his grasp he rearranges his hold to free one of his hands, shoving down the boy's shorts without finesse.

His mind seethes at the audacity, that an omega would be so defiant as to cause him harm. _Him._ The Batman. Bruce Wayne. Who does Jason think he is? Does he not realize who it is _he belongs to?_

The boy won't stop squirming. Bruce bites into the soft flesh of his neck again and growls low, clenching his jaw until he feels a hot trickle of blood burst against his tongue. Jason yowls in pain.

Bruce leans back to pull the belt from Robin's tunic with one hand, letting go of Jason's neck and licking the blood from his teeth. The boy scratches and claws at Bruce as he does so, trying to get the small bit of fabric back with desperation. He grabs Jason's hands by the wrist to stop the onslaught of nails on his skin, crossing them behind Jason's back to wind the belt around, out of Bruce's way. It doesn't stop Jason's writhing in the least, if anything it aggravates it. At least now Bruce won't have to worry about being hit at in retaliation again.

Hastily undoing the catches on the suit to free his erection, Bruce can feel it pulsing in his hand from the lack of attention it's received. Nearly painful from the swell of blood with no relief. He spits in his hand to give it a good jerk, bucking his hips in reflex. Even in the wetness of his palm the calloused skin of his hands feels torturous on his cock. It doesn't help knowing there's a better place he could be putting it.

Bruce can feel Jason's legs squirming from between his own, feel Jason's feet planting on his calves trying to gain purchase on something to push off from and get away. He spreads the boy's cheeks to get a good look at what he's getting. The pucker of Jason's hole red and slowly leaking slick down his thighs, clenching and relaxing under the scrutiny of his gaze. Bruce pushes his thumbs in the boy's cunt to pull him further apart. The wave of scent that hits him is overwhelming as it fills his head, better than any synthetic aphrodisiac ever could and making his dick swell as another rush of blood heads south. Jason whines at the stretch, toes curling up as his legs quiver with the effort of holding himself still - moving will only make it hurt more.

Pulling back one hand, Bruce jabs three fingers inside Jason, pressing as deep as he can and twisting for one last attempt at stretching the boy open and making him howl. It's not the best way of dealing with things, Bruce knows this, can feel a pang of empathy growing in him at the pained sounds Jason makes at his ministrations, how much it must hurt. Then again, he reminds himself, this is meant to be a punishment.

Primal drives flaring in the back of his mind to scorch his thoughts, he feels his cock twitching against his thigh in anticipation. He deserves a little something for all he's put up with.

He presses the head of his cock against Jason's hole, having removed his fingers and lining himself up with his free hand steadied on Jason's hip. Bruce begins to push in. Most of the head goes in without struggle with how slick Jason is, until he reaches the flared end of it. Using one of his thumbs Bruce pushes down on the top of the flared edge and forces the rest of the head in, thumb catching just under the stretched rim of Jason's cunt. The squeeze of Jason's body around him is making him delirious, even with only the head in he feels like he could cum. He groans in ecstasy, mindlessly grinding forward into the tight pressure of it surrounding him; he desperately wants more. Beneath him, Jason whimpers.

Rocking his hips, Bruce slowly gets more of his cock inside, slicking it up with his spit as best he can to help ease the way. He's nearly four inches deep when he starts trying to buck in earnest, patience ground thin to get his dick squeezed within the body below.

Grasping Jason's hips with both his hands, Bruce readies himself, yanking the boy back against him with a harsh thrust of his hips, he stuffs his cock further inside him. Jason cries out louder, screams, as something gives - slick dripping around the rim of his stretched hole. Bruce groans hotly against Jason's neck as he doubles over with pleasure, hips twitching forward in aborted thrusts at the newfound sensation of filling the boy up so fully. The clenching wet warmth pulsing around him, squeezing the blood swollen flesh of his cock. It'd be easier if the boy was in heat, he wasn't nearly this tight the first time. But god does it feel good.

This close to Jason's mouth, Bruce can hear the quiet, broken mantra trembling from his lips on repeat, "let me go let me go let me go let me go"

He brings a hand around to wrap across Jason's mouth and silence him and his pleas, hot exhales of funneled air brushing against the backs his fingers. Bruce knows what's best for Jason, he doesn't need an omega telling him how to behave.

Between exerted breathes, Bruce whispers in the boy's ear to calm him. "Shh. You're doing - hrrn - so good. So good for me, Jason. My boy." His hips stutter forward in a rut involuntarily, trying to get the last part of his cock inside that slick heat. Bruce grunts at the feeling of how tight it is; voice rough with arousal, near breathless from the intensity of it. "You feel so good around me."

Grasping Jason's hips harder with his one free hand, Bruce bears down on him to get the slight rise of his unfilled knot inside, slowly sinking in bit by bit to be completely enveloped and making him groan in pleasure. It feels heavenly and he rocks forward, trying to get deeper, to close the sliver of space between them. He can feel the head of his cock bumping against something inside of Jason with every push forward, firmer than the soft velvet of his inner walls. It briefly registers in his mind that it's likely the boy's cervix. He bites back down on the curve of Jason's neck beneath him to muffle the sounds of delight rumbling deep in his chest at the thought.

He pulls back until only the head is still inside before slamming back in. The inner muscles around him flutter and clench in reaction. Jason's legs are shaking. Bruce grinds down with his hips, now flush against Jason's backside, enjoying the feel of all of it finally fitting inside the boy's body, just as it was meant to be. Just as it was before. He pulls back a few inches before thrusting in again. Over and over. His pace quick to build with the sound of wet slapping, squelching, growing louder in the room. The echoes of their coupling accompanied only by the loud grunts and groans coming from Bruce, growling, biting and gnawing at the expanse of skin below him. Spit glazes the side of Jason's neck, making the swelling bite marks shine, a line of solid red mingling with the clear over broken skin.

Worrying his teeth into the sweat-slick skin beneath him, Bruce can feel the feverish pulse of the boy's heart, rabbit-quick against the cold lapping of his tongue. The thrust of Bruce's cock only serves to push Jason's bulging stomach out further. He can feel it from his hand, now cupping underneath to caress the swell of it, the stretch. He groans through clenched teeth, hips snapping hard against the boy's pert ass, barely cushioning the blow of each thrust into that tight little cunt of his squeezing around his cock like a whore.

With each buck of his hips it gets harder and harder to pull out. The feeling of wet friction, so tight around his knot as it passes through and catches on that clenching ring of muscle is too divine, nerves feeling so raw and rubbed, gone haywire with over-stimulation. It's bringing him closer and closer to the end, the sensation too intense yet he craves more, so desperate as he is to reach his own release.

It gets to the point where Bruce can no longer pull out despite the strength behind each thrust, knot swelling with blood to lock them together. The stretch of it is quick to ignite a response in Jason's body, the muscles surrounding Bruce's growing knot clamping down like a vice to hold him in place. He shouts as he reaches his climax. Forehead pressing against the crest of a shoulderblade as his back arches, curving in on himself as he pumps his seed into the body beneath him. Bruce's hips jerk forward intermittently with each new wave of cum pulsing out to fill Jason's little cunt, already stuffed to the brim with his girth.

He hasn't had a release like this, so intensely satisfying in it's raw sexual energy, in so long. It's ecstasy to his mind to finally find relief after months of denying himself from ravaging the boy. A glow of endorphins surging through him, it makes his limbs feel tingly, sated like morphine. Bruce's hand slips from Jason's mouth. Chest heaving to catch his breath as the sweat drips down his skin, so cold now that everything's said and done. It's only now that he hears Jason crying.

The boy's whole body is quaking with the force of his sobs, wrenching forward with his head to the floor, no longer held up by the bite in his neck and the hand muffling his screams. Looking back, Bruce dully realizes what had been mistaken as sweat dripping down from Jason's face had actually been tears - wetting his fingers with salt stained lines. The wailing echoes off the floors to fill the room. Bruce can't even move to give the boy his space. He can't walk away from it like he had before.

It's an hour before they can completely separate themselves with how tight Jason is outside of his heats, body not fully ready to be bred. Especially by someone so much larger than him... Bruce is learning to hate himself more and more with each passing minute, each tear as it hits the ground. It's deafening in his ears.

 

Jason's gone within the week. Bruce can't blame him for leaving, after all that he's done to him. It looms in the back of his mind though, unbidden and knowing in it's bite: that he would've tried harder to bring Jason back, if he had known it would be the last time he'd see him still alive.


End file.
